Dealing with Heart Hurt. You it.

My heart hurts. Not in the way that you call the ER or anything. I mean, I don’t have ANGINA (nod to my nephew who seems fascinated by this word). I mean…well…it hurts.

There are things in my life that I try to deal with and I’ve refrained from blogging about. I keep thinking about what my brother said on the phone this weekend to my nephew (he blew out his tire and was waiting for someone to come and help him on the side of the road): “Well, you deal with what you’ve got. There’s nothing we can do to make this part go faster. You just get through it.”

I feel that way about the tender parts in life. The parts that maybe I’m not proud of or saddened by or embarrassed by. I mean, what can you do? You deal with what you’ve got.

I deal with being a part-time mom, not because it’s what I want, but because I love my kids enough that I thought they should have half their time with their dad. I don’t like being a part-time mom. It feels like a copout. But if I’d had more time with my dad, maybe I’d have some kind of connection/relationship with him.

But actually, that’s probably just a fantasy too, because there are truths about my dad that also make my heart hurt. Big truths about choices and being a parent, even if you don’t want to be.

There are things about my mom that make my heart hurt. Ways that she’s changed. The way I have to talk to her to be ‘heard’. The way our relationship has changed.

My heart hurts for my friends and family who are struggling with financial issues, and health, and money problems. I wish I could rescue them all, but I can’t, and that hurts too.

I used to take walks with my friend L before she moved to a new place for a fantastic job, and we’d often comment that life is rarely all good. At the same time, it’s rarely all awful. You deal with what you’ve got. Some days are easier than others. (But some days are, admittedly, pretty terrific too.)

At the grocery store, my sister called and we chatted for a few minutes while I looked at the fruit on sale and decided it all looked too plastic. “You know,” she said, “I think you should write a memoir. You’re so fucking funny that you could tell our story and make people get it.”

It’s been one of the things I haven’t been able to write about. When you try to be funny-- especially when you try to be funny--it’s really hard to write about those things that make your heart hurt: loss, poverty, neglect, sadness, mistakes, etc.

Every day I try really, really hard to be kind and open. To laugh. To be a good mom and partner. To be a good daughter and sister. But there are days, like today, when dealing with what you’ve got seems to be a heavy burden, and one you can’t seem to lift. Where’s the funny in that? I’m not sure.

I miss the kids. It’s sunny out and I just saw pictures of them at the beach and they look so happy. These pictures are both wonderful and hard for me to see because I’m not in them. I want the kids with me and Kealoha all the time, and not just part of the time. I want my kids to have a better start in life than I did, and some days I worry that I’ve failed them.

Heart. Hurt. Heavy.

These “h” words seems to be weighted with sadness.

You can see why I try to resist writing these kind of blogs, and why I think writing a memoir would be really difficult.

I think I need a good cry, a back rub, and a couple of pretty pots of mums for the front of my house. Little things help sometimes in dealing with ‘what you’ve got’.